Everybody loved Berlin except for me and Emory. From my rented bed I could hear the others laughing in the streets. I’d pass the empty bottles on the curbs, lined up like tiny cities for the homeless to collect. Where New York had rooftops; Berlin had balconies, and everywhere I went I was sad and dumb and twenty-two—an age that pretends to matter when it doesn’t. — Emory and I didn’t like each other, but we didn’t have anyone else. We moved to Berlin on the same day in September, and a mutual … [Read more...] about On Balconies